The Swallow’s Nest

When John married Evelyn, his motherinlaw immediately took to her new daughterinlaw. Shed watched Evelyn from the schoolyard years earlier, when John still sprinted to the village hall for dances and shed been the prettiest girl on the floor.

John, youve gone daft, staring at yourself in the mirror like a lovesick lad, she chortled. Show us the bride, then bring her up to her father.

Im in love, Mother. Youll see everything in due time, John replied with a grin, slipping away.

Wouldnt it be grand to have a girl like Evelyn for our son, his father muttered over dinner.

What Evelyn? he asked.

Ferguss granddaughter. Hes raised her alone, you know. Not a spoiled childpolite, welcoming, and a real beauty.

The motherinlaw could barely contain her curiosity about the girl who would become her sons wife. When John arrived with Evelyn for tea, she nearly fell off her chair, eyes wide.

My dear, have you read my mind? Ive longed for Evelyn to be my daughterinlaw. Ive watched her for ages. Look at her, shining like sunrise, she gushed, while the young couple exchanged nervous smiles.

The wedding was a modest village affair, far from any grand manor. It mattered not that it lacked extravagance; love was the true guest of honour. Evelyn, though gentle, was determined. When she set her mind to something, she did it with care and purpose.

Our Evelyn is like a swallowsweet, diligent, and everwatchful, Johns mother told the neighbours, beaming. What a proper lady shell be.

Soon after, their son Michael was born. The grandparents adored him, but he arrived premature and fragile. Slowly he grew, becoming a calm, steady lad.

Years slipped by. Johns parents passed, and two years later John himself died, clutching at the thatch as the summer heat seized his heart while he was shingling the roof. Evelyn was left a widow, the weight of grief pressing on her chest.

She and Michael were alone. Time marched on; Michael grew into a quiet, steady man. Their life settled into a slow, measured rhythm. Every task they took on was discussed, planned, and executed at a pace that suited them. Like every other farmstead, they kept a cow, a horse, a pig, and a few chickens, ploughing and sowing as the seasons demanded. Yet, unlike many households, there was no shouting, no blame, no harsh words between mother and son.

When a sudden rain ruined the hay theyd just stacked, Evelyn would smile at Michael and say, Dont worry, lad, the summers long enough to dry it all. Neighbouring families, by contrast, would argue fiercely over the same mishap, sometimes nearly coming to blows.

Evelyn kept the cottage spotless; polished floors, starched curtains, a kitchen always humming with simple, varied meals. Michael loved her cooking and often asked what shed prepare for the next day. Their neighbour Ann would sometimes drop by, eyes widening at the hearty spread.

Evelyn, you and Michael live alone and still have a feast on the table, Ann remarked.

Come in, sit down, Evelyn replied, gesturing to a chair. Michael may be small, but he eats like a horse.

Ann laughed, Your son isnt the strongest, but hes a good lad, as sturdy as an oak.

Word of Evelyn and Michaels quiet dignity spread through the village. They were praised for their cleanliness, generosity, and lack of envy. When Michael reached marrying age, he chose a bride, not for her heightmost village lads fancied taller girlsbut for her spirit. He fell for Mabel, a lanky, strongwilled girl who towered over him, far from the typical village beauty.

Why would Mabel suit my Michael? Evelyn mused, shaking her head. Shes fiery, outspoken, a bit rough around the edges.

She resolved to endure, thinking, If my son is happy, so am I. Mabel was talkative, while Michael was a man of few words.

Nothing to worry about, Mother, Michael said, Ill guide the children as best I can. Evelyn kept silent, watching the uneasy dance between her son and his new wife.

The wedding passed without a single quarrelunusual for a village celebration where many guests stumbled home drunk and loud. Early the next morning, Evelyn stepped onto the yard to clear the tables. Mabel appeared, arms crossed, muttering, This wedding was a waste; we couldve just signed the papers.

Go back to bed, Mabel. Ill finish up here, Evelyn replied calmly.

Youll spread gossip, saying Im a lazy daughterinlaw, Mabel snapped.

Leave the rumors to the wind, Evelyn whispered, eyes steady.

Mabels anger lingered, but Evelyn said nothing. From that day, Mabels sharp tongue became a fixture. She scrutinised every interaction between Michael and his mother, often commenting on his health or plans, sometimes with a sarcastic kiss on his cheek.

Such tender nonsense, Mabel thought, watching Michaels soft gestures toward Evelyn. A mother coddling her sonno wonder hes so compliant.

At the market, Mabel bragged about Michaels devotion, insisting he never spoke ill of his mother.

Old George, Evelyns husband, watched the scene and shook his head, Poor Evelyn, let a crow nest in a swallows home.

Many pitied Evelyn, yet she never spoke ill of Mabel, despite knowing the brides quarrelsome nature. Mabels temper flared often, even towards her own mother, and the two argued bitterly.

Evelyn kept her peace, refusing to fuel the conflict. When Michael returned from the garage after a hard day, he would sometimes ask, What shall we cook tomorrow? Mabel would snap, Well eat whatevers on the table, not some royal feast.

Mabel rushed through chores, leaving milk buckets dirty, milk frothy with hay, while Evelyn inspected everything, cleaned the udder before milking, and only then began. Evelyns soups were ladled with care; Mabel diced potatoes roughly, onions in large chunks.

At dinner, Evelyn caught Michaels lingering glances toward her dishes, understanding he preferred her cooking, but she said nothing.

The tension in the household grew, though no outright fights erupted. Evelyn tried, in whispers, to steer Michael and Mabel toward a gentler understanding, but the villages habit of harsh words seemed entrenched.

A year later, Mabel gave birth to a son, Timmy. The infant slept poorly; Mabels milk ran thin, and the baby often woke hungry. Ignoring Evelyns offers, Mabel refused extra feeds.

Evelyn, unable to stand by, began quietly supplementing Timmys bottle. The child thrived, gaining weight, soon strolling to school. Their bond was tender; the boy adored his grandmother, who soothed him with warm milk and a slice of cake.

Timmys father, a gentle man, held and kissed him, but Mabel would scoff, Raise a lad or a ladylike wisp? Hes neither.

The couple never shouted; Evelyn treated Mabel with patience, even as Mabel muttered behind her back. Michael worked at the local garage, his skill admired, though neighbours stared at his calm endurance of a difficult wife.

Timmy excelled at school, often asking Evelyn for a treat. He watched as Mabel berated his father for the simple meals he prepared. Youre such a picky one, just like your father, shed say, forcing Timmy to eat the plain fare.

When Evelyn fell ill, Mabel never visited. Michael and his father would bring tea with raspberry jam, while Timmy observed his grandmothers quiet strength, offering remarks that only deepened Mabels bitterness toward Evelyn.

One afternoon, Timmy returned from the countryside with his sweetheart, Leah, a bright girl from the next lane. Evelyns eyes softened.

Leah is a lovely girl, Timmy. Ill pray for you both, she said, crossing herself.

Timmy smiled, Grandma, its our secret. Well finish college, marry, and build a new home. Ill bring you there, too, so youll never be alone.

Evelyns heart swelled with hope. She knew, despite the storms, the love shed sown in his youth would bear fruit. She whispered a blessing, May God watch over you, my dear.